Robert James, 8 lb 12oz, arrived at 2:46 today after 4 hours of labour (likely kickstarted by a double dose of oxytocin from P's morning nurse and another activity... )

He's adorably peaceful, has hardly cried even when getting a needle and being all unwrapped and poked and prodded by nurses. He's nursing well and I'm ravenous. I'll be back later with the story...

ETA:When I gave birth to P, I had a "positive" labour and delivery (insofar as anything so painful can be considered positive). Nevertheless, going into my second time, there were a few things I was hoping would be different. The main thing was to go into spontaneous labour, and that wish was granted on the morning of Sunday, December 15th, at 40+3. After one mega-Braxton-Hicks contraction Saturday evening, and then an unusually quiet night, I woke up Sunday morning, had my usual long, lazy nurse with P, and started to feel the breastfeeding oxytocin set off mild contractions (DH and I followed this up by DTD while P played in his room, so a double dose...) As I went about my morning, instead of petering off, the contractions started getting stronger. Around 10:00, DH was in the shower when I ducked in to say,"So, I'm starting to wonder if today might be the day..." By the time he got out, I was leaning on the bed and having to breathe and hum my way through the 30-second, 8-minutes-apart contractions. I texted the family, we made a quick run to my parents' to settle P with them, and headed for the hospital.

Settled in triage at the birthing unit as they monitored baby's heart rate and reviewed my medical history,I expressed a few more of my wishes: a saline lock so I didn't need to be attached to an IV for my whole labour, intermittent fetal monitoring, again for the added mobility, and delayed cord clamping when the time came. I turned down pain management medication again, trusting that I'd be able to handle it second time around as I did the first. I also had a secret wish granted-- when hearing that my last labour was only four hours, the doctor on staff determined that despite my being GBS+, I would likely not have time for a second dose of antibiotics. The decision was made instead to keep my waters intact until I was fully dilated (barring spontaneous rupture) to keep baby protected from the strep in the birth canal. I was glad of this as I am pretty sure the antibiotics from P’s labour caused our long,uncomfortable battle with thrush when he was a newborn. This would likely mean a longer labour, but since I was already 5cm after only an hour and a half of painful labour, "longer" was a relative term.

As we moved to a labour and delivery room, I was still coping well, humming my way through contractions, moving and swaying around the room in between, and feeling much less overwhelmed and sulky than the last time. I still had my sense of humour, and was not so bossy and short-tempered with DH--yet. I used a birthing ball for a while as DH made a valiant but not very successful attempt to rub my back in a way that suited me. About 1:00, however, my contractions started coming more quickly-- about 3 minutes apart-- and to feel more overwhelming. Time slowed right down, and my vocalisations turned from humming to something more primal, a bit of a roar. I knew before the nurse called the doctor to examine me that I was heading into transition: 8-9cm dilated by 1:45.

The nurse stayed with us after that as I moved up on to the bed, labouring on my side for a bit and then on my knees leaning on the birthing ball. I could feel pressure building as baby descended, and the alter-ego from my last labour returned. I shouted "No!" as my contractions peaked, moaned "I don't want to," and "I can't,"in the 'lulls' and sulked about every instruction I was given. I stopped watching the clock, but I think it was coming up to 2:30 when I suddenly felt the urge to push and that unmistakable feeling of a baby's head in my birth canal. "I think I need to push!"I told our nurse, Linda. She manoeuvred me through my protests onto my back as I announced to the world that my baby was coming. Our doctor came, declared me fully dilated, and broke my waters, which gave me a brief but wonderful moment of pure relief.

That was at 2:43, but there was no time to revel in it. My nurse immediately instructed me-- with the force of a sergeant major,as nothing else would've filtered through to me-- to push through the next contraction and not to yell. I couldn't help letting a few furious screams of "No!" slip out as I could barely focus on Linda's instructions through the pain of the head crowning and the intensity of the contraction. The voices telling me he was crowning, he had a head of hair, now his shoulders were coming, seemed far away, but nevertheless I managed to bear down and push while privately thinking how mean everybody was.

I thought it again when, moments later, at 2:46, they stopped the blessed relief of drawing him out and told me to reach down and pick him up (he was out up to the waist at that point.) I think it may have taken a second instruction from the nurse before I clued in and reached down to pull his tiny, warm, wet purple body up onto my chest. He started to cry as he was born, but the second he reached my chest, he burrowed up against me and stopped crying. I felt a wave of love-- he recognised me!

We opted for delayed clamping but the cord only pulsated for a minute or two before stopping. DH cut the cord; meanwhile I was torn between two wonderful thoughts that I kept saying aloud: one was "Oh, my son, you are darling," and one was, "Oh, I'm so glad that's over..." I delivered the placenta just six minutes later and had a second-degree tear to be stitched up. Our son stayed on my chest throughout, getting his Vitamin K and eye ointment there, and DH hovered over us, distracting me from the stitches by settling together on the name. Robert James had slipped into the world and into our hearts.

He was a quiet baby with contemplative grey-brown eyes, not crying at all for most of the first day, not when they took him from me for weighing (8lbs12oz) or when getting his blood taken to ensure he hadn't picked up the GBS on his way out. It wasn't til Daddy was giving him his bath at 11:30 that night that he finally decided to express some indignation at the way everyone insisted on treating him. We had a long quiet time with the three of us in our room afterwards, nursing, cuddling, and just being peaceful after the whirlwind of birth, so when our families finally arrived after church, I was very eager to see them, not least because they were bringing P, and an enormous bucket of KFC-- giving birth had left me ravenous. P was darling, holding and kissing Robbie with eyes as big as saucers, and repeating over and over the words 'baby', 'Wobbie', 'brother', and 'mine'. He also took it upon himself to point out the baby to his watching uncles in case they missed it. I was happy because aside from a few short routine procedures, Robbie had thus far spent every minute of his short life in a pair of loving arms.

The KFC was also wonderful.

Last edited by StJuniper on 03 Jan 2014, 20:16, edited 2 times in total.

Mama to two boys, the Scout Kid P, 02/26/12 and the Feral Kid R 12/15/13, and one little Tumbleweed girl, 05/27/16.